


Something has to make you run

by riversdamsel



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Tumblr Prompt, so much fluff you could stuff seven pillows, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 10:29:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5087233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riversdamsel/pseuds/riversdamsel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It came to him like a dream, or like how a lightning bolt hits its target on planet earth- suddenly, all at once, and like he should have been more prepared for it than he was.  The way to save his wife had been there all along, it just took him a thousand years to realize it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something has to make you run

**Author's Note:**

> *waves nervously* This is my first go at writing Twelve oh lord save me
> 
> Prompt: hidden talents 
> 
> Not rated M because we all know those particular talents aren't the hidden ones
> 
> Story title from "Don't Know Why" by Norah Jones
> 
> So I just recently set up a tumblr! I reblogged a list of prompts I'm currently taking- find one and drop one in my inbox or leave one in the comments below! I mean if you want. You don't have to. Okay ily bye
> 
> riversbowties.tumblr.com

It came to him like a dream, or like how a lightning bolt hits its target on planet earth- suddenly, all at once, and like he should have been more prepared for it than he was.  The way to save his wife had been there all along, it just took him a thousand years to realize it.

 

He doesn’t pick up Clara, he doesn’t go on life-threatening, history-shattering adventures.  He just parks his TARDIS in the vortex and doesn’t worry about how long his mad scheme will take him to complete.  After all, he has a time machine- time doesn’t pass without him there to witness it.

 

He could explain his plan, he could, but he imagines that to the listener it would sound just as about outrageous as saying he’s going to save her with a paperclip and a piece of gum.  So he doesn’t explain, he only works.  Besides, no one’s around to show off to anyway.

 

After nothing but what seems like endless, relentless work, the Doctor gives a final, sharp twist to the wires of the data mainframe held in the console.  The TARDIS gives a hiss and rains a shower of sparks down upon him that causes a temporary blindness.  Muttering a few expletives under his breath, the Doctor blinks away the stars swimming in his eyes, his breathing suddenly coming to a halt as he gives a final blink and finally focuses on the figure now standing on the other side of the console room.

 

She stands there like a vision, clothed in a too-white gown, her brilliant green eyes wet and shining, and looking just about as shocked as he feels.  Snapping his mouth shut, the Doctor feels everything within him settle in a way that it hasn’t since he heard the towers sing.  The corner of his lips twitch ever so slightly upward.  “Not every day I get the opportunity to shock River Song.”

 

“Not every day I get to learn that I finally succeeded in slapping my husband into a new regeneration,” his wife retorts, as quick-witted as ever as she takes a step toward him, and him a step toward her.  If this body was his last one, he imagines that tears would be running down his cheeks just at the sound of her voice alone.  To say it’s been too long would be an injustice to them both, for it has been far longer than even that.

 

“Sorry, dear, the new face isn’t due to you or the rather magnificent sting that comes with one of your slaps.”

 

Her brow rises as she takes another step.  “Maybe it should have been, considering how long you left me in there.”

 

His expression sobers almost instantly.  She doesn’t specify where _there_ is, but he knows.  “Yes, maybe it should have.”

 

And that’s it, that’s all they speak of it because in the next second she is in his arms, warm and soft and _real_ against him.  As he buries his face in her mane of curls, the Doctor shuts his eyes tightly against the stinging of tears behind his eyes, but doesn’t quite manage to keep them from spilling over- perhaps this body isn’t as different from the last as he previously thought.

 

She seeks out his lips with her own, and while he never thought this body was going to be the kissing type, he quickly finds out that he was very, _very_ wrong.  It seems that River Song is always his exception.

 

Her body molds against his in such a way that it feels like if it were possible to get beneath his skin, she would to just that, just to be that much closer.  He can’t say that he would mind, because suddenly all he craves is her touch.

 

Lifting her so that her thighs wrap around his waist and her arms cling to his neck, the Doctor manages to carry her to their bedroom without stumbling once, something that he’s rather proud of considering he never accomplished that in his last regeneration.

 

“Stop looking so smug,” River speaks in a warm, fond tone as he gently lays her on their bed.

 

“I think smug rather suits me this go ‘round, thank you very much, wife,” the Doctor quips, briefly sending a silent thanks to his ship as he notices that the room is spotless despite him having not entered in centuries.

 

“You think that with every regeneration, sweetie.”

 

His hearts catch in his throat at the name, refusing to let the term of endearment he hasn’t heard in so long bring tears to his eyes.  River’s smirk softens as if she knows, and knowing her, she probably does.  When she extends her hand to him, he takes it without question and allows her to pull him into bed.

 

Sometime later he is still there, lounging against the pillows and listening to the light sound of running water as his wife showers.  Normally, he would join her and ensure that the whole process would be for naught, but this isn’t _normally_.  They haven’t seen each other in far longer than either of them care to admit, and they both need time to process.

 

Except by the time the shower stops running he finds that he hasn’t used the time to process at all.  All he can think about is the feeling of River in his arms again, and he finds that he longs for her touch even though she is only as far away as the adjoining room.  Maybe processing is something that has to be done together.  His hearts constrict as he thinks about _‘hiding the damage,’_ and wishes this would have been something he learned a lifetime ago.

 

River steps out of the bathroom, and his lips quirk slightly at the sight of her wrapped in a fuzzy pink towel.  All this time has made him forget that River Song- his darling psychopath and hell in high heels- enjoys the color _pink_.  At least when it comes to things like towels and dressing gowns and knickers.  Resisting the heat coming to his cheeks at the last bit (he didn’t even know this body could blush), he thinks that somehow, that color fits her and her need to be consistently unpredictable.

 

The Doctor watches as she fluffs her curls with a separate towel, and extends his slightly tremoring hand to her once she’s finished.  The answering smile she gives him causes his hearts to stutter, and before she places her hand in his, she notes, “You’re shaking.”

 

He gives pause, considering how to answer to her statement before slowly replying, “I’m happy.”

 

Her palm settles in his, her neat fingers twining with his own longer ones, and he realizes that he can feel her shaking as well.  It isn’t something visible, but he can feel the tremor under her skin, in her bones.  When he meets her eyes, he finds her smiling knowingly at him.  “So am I.”

 

Quickly, the Doctor pulls her into him, forcing her sit with her back against his chest before there’s the chance of her seeing him cry like a sodding teenage earth girl.

 

“Hair tie,” he states gruffly, holding out his hand because he knows she has one on her.  He still remembers that she can’t stand to sleep with her curls free.

 

Briefly, River wings a brow at him over her shoulder before plopping the elastic into his waiting palm.  “The last you didn’t know how to plait hair,” she states in a simple observation as he concentrates on separating her damp curls into three sections.

 

“Consider it a hidden talent,” the Doctor mutters.  Somehow, without even having to see her face, he can tell that she’s smiling.

 

Slowly and methodically he twines her curls together into a single plait, tying it with the elastic at the end.  After he’s finished, he swipes the plait over her shoulder and leans in to press a gentle kiss to the nape of her neck.  He makes the mistake of deeply breathing her in, taking in the fresh smell of jasmine somehow mixed with that of time and dust.

 

Tears sting his eyes at the familiar smell he has missed so much, and he is again reminded that his wife is here and _real_.  Pressing another kiss to her skin, the Doctor promises to himself that this time he will be more worthy of the title _husband_ , and that there will be no _next time_ when it comes to letting her go- this time they’re going to run forever.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading (:


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